


The Thrill Of The Kill

by atenebrae



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Angels, Blood, Body Horror, Demons, Fluff, Fugitives, Gore, Killing Spree, M/M, Motels, Murder, No Angst, No Smut, One Shot, Police, Psychopaths In Love, Soulmates, Souls, Swearing, Violence, powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 01:47:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11979531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atenebrae/pseuds/atenebrae
Summary: Everyone in the country knows Dean and Castiel, a couple of fugitives leaving bloody, gruesome crime scenes wherever they go. Murders so monstrous some doubt they are even human. But beyond this façade of insane killers, the two of them are tied by a very strong bond, a love so tender no one could believe they are the same persons who take lives so easily.But as the cops are getting closer and the danger of being caught is stronger than ever, doubt starts spreading in both Dean and Cas. Should they run away once again and start a brand new life? Or maybe they should do what they do best: leave a massive chaos behind them...





	The Thrill Of The Kill

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, this is a new fic because why not! Basically Criminals!Destiel keeping some supernatural elements in an alternate universe.  
> It's Dean and Cas being bad and loving it, so no angst at all, but big warning for gore/violence/body horror!

 

 “Go, go, go!” Castiel shouts, his pupils so wide they only leave a thin circle of icy blue around. “Dean, just drive!”

“That’s what I’m trying to do!” Dean answers, his voice cold and rough, his jaw clenched of anger. He turns the key several times, but the engine only has a muffled moan, before it coughs and falls back to silence. “Shit!” he says, his blood heating in his veins.

Even from miles away, Castiel can hear the police sirens wailing, the road shaking under the tires, the voices spluttering from the radio, the distraught heartbeats in tight chests.

“Why won’t it start?” Castiel asks as the fever settles in the car. His skin itches, his palms are damp, and beads of sweat roll down his spine.

“I don’t know!” Dean shouts in return, slamming his hand on the steering wheel. The old Chevrolet never failed them, it always swallowed miles after miles without complaining. But now that danger is getting nearer, the damn thing just won’t move, like an animal lost in a deep slumber. 

“We messed up” Castiel says, turning around, his eyes narrowing to see if any bright red and blue light appears on the horizon. A sharp pain suddenly blooms in his side and he presses his palm against his ribs, wincing. 

“Yeah, I know that” Dean snaps, before his eye catches the movement of Castiel’s hand. He turns to look at him, and dread spreads like an oil spill on his features. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice hoarse in his throat. 

Castiel’s breathing is fastening, shaking his lungs in little, brutal bumps, and when he moves his fingers, they are tainted of dark, red blood. “They shot me!” he exclaims, almost incredulous. 

“But it’s not possible!” Dean answers with the same surprise, though his heart is thundering at the sight of all that bright liquid flowing from Castiel’s chest. He gives him a worried look. “Bullets can’t hurt you, right?” he asks, his pulse distraught in his wrists. 

Castiel’s eyes darken. “Not regular bullets, yes” he answers and Dean sees him clenching his fists, holding back the pain in his guts. “They must have known” he adds, his face so somber Dean shivers a little. 

“How?” Dean says, desperate, before he tries to start the engine again, in vain. 

“I don’t know” Castiel answers with a sigh. He feels the bullet moving every time he does, and the very thought of it stuck in his body makes him sick. “Someone must have told them.”

“Who?” Dean asks, his knuckles white on the keys, his features tense, skin tight on the bones. 

“Probably Crowley” Castiel answers, his jaw twitching. “He’s still mad we left him behind after that one time.” He then shrugs, as if the situation wasn’t that serious after all. “But well, it doesn’t matter. They all failed miserably. I’m not dead.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, turning to him, a bitter line on his mouth, “But who said you won’t be in a minute? An hour? A day?”

Castiel can’t help but smile at him. “You’re worried” he says, staring at Dean’s wide eyes and trembling hands and shaking lungs.

Dean gives him an incredulous look. “Of course I am!” he shouts before he slams the wheel again, now feeling all his nerves unraveling. He grips it, wishing his fingers could just break and bleed so he would have a distraction from Castiel’s wound. He has a long sigh before he says, “You know I can’t lose you.”

Castiel’s face softens. “And you won’t” he says. “But for that you know you have to start this car, right?” He then has a smirk. “We should have got another one when I said it. We wouldn’t be there now.”

“I know” Dean cuts him, trying to think. Their race through the woods left him breathless and dripping sweat, and he just feels hollow and hungry and desperate. “What can I do?” he says.

 

Castiel doesn’t answer at first. He listens to the sirens, closely, his mind stretching around him, distorted every time it touches a police car. It flows like water around rocks so Castiel just knows how much of them there are.

It’s a good thing they had parked the car so far away from the house they had targeted. The only ways to access it was either by crossing the thick forest, which was impossible to drive through, or by the wide road, which was much longer. If they had been close, it was sure they’d already been shot dead.

“Cas?” Dean asks, his eyes sounding his face with dread.

Cas sighs and turns to him again. “You always know what to do” he says, and his hand lands on Dean’s shoulder, fingers spread around the muscle, soothing. “Just focus.”

 

Dean stares at him for a little longer, his lashes fluttering like moths on a street lamp, before he turns back to the road. He starts breathing deep and closes his eyes, searching in the depths of him a solution to their mess. His hands are curled around the wheel, and he feels the engine still hot somewhere underneath him. He feels each thread, each sparks of electricity and suddenly he knows.

His eyes snap open again and he lets out a deep, steady breath. His fingers grip the wheel even tighter and he lets his mind dive under the dashboard, find the engine and suddenly his thoughts are a buzzing swarm and it bursts into the broken machine, waking it with a jolt.

Dean has a smile of victory when the car suddenly stirs under their bodies. He turns to Castiel who gives him a tired, but grateful expression. “Now, drive” he says, “If you don’t want to see me bleeding all over your precious, _crappy_ car” he adds, amused.

Dean gives him a falsely dark look before his foot hits the accelerator and the car rips through the air like a black arrow.

Dean’s lips are pulled into an evil curve as he feels the engine roaring under him, and suddenly the road is just a blurry ribbon unraveling, the landscape turning into brief glimpses of the world. Black electricity spits around his fingers, circles around the wheel before they dive in the heart of the car, keeping it moving, keeping it alive, like a knight spurring his war horse.

But his joy soon turns into pure, fire-fueled rage when he hears the sirens wailing louder behind them. The police probably caught up on them while they were motionless and now the red and blue lights are illuminating the night, muffled voices ordering them to surrender.

 

There’s a twitch in Dean’s jaw as he glances to Castiel, who’s trying to keep his eyes on the road while wincing of deep, sharp pain. “I think I’m gonna need your help with that” he says.

“I can’t. I’ll be weakened as long as this thing is in my stomach” Cas says, his face somber. “Besides, you know I don’t have a… _connection_ with that thing you call a car.”

“Don’t be moody” Dean says, glancing at the rear-view mirror, “Just give me a bit of that energy of yours and we should be fine.”

Castiel sighs and sits right on the leather seat. “Alright, I can try” he says, reaching out to land his cool fingers on Dean’s bare forearm. 

He closes his eyes and suddenly there’s a wave of power, a ripple of water and thunder and Dean shivers as he feels the blue light flooding over him. He suddenly feels stronger, brighter and the electricity crackling in his fingertips bursts like a storm.

As if it was moved by a force greater than the universe itself, the car has a sudden jolt and the landscape is now longer blurry, but transparent.

It’s like swimming in the clearest ocean, walking in a forest of glass and waterfalls. The car is now longer metal and gasoline, but a ghost moving through the layers of reality.

Castiel has a strangled cry. “I don’t think I can hold any longer” he whispers, his eyes glowing in the dark.

Dean gives him a worried look. “Just one more second, OK? All we need is a place where I can get that damn bullet out of you.” He pauses for a moment, and then, “Where you’ll be safe.”

Castiel scoffs bitterly. “Is there really a place like that?” he asks, and even if he’s overwhelmed by pain and dread and hunger, his voice still bears a tenderness that never left since he met Dean.

This one doesn’t answer, just focuses on the thick line of blackness ahead of him, the night spilling in his eyes as the police’s raw lights fade behind them. He doesn’t speak but Castiel feels a wave of black power crashing onto him, and he knows Dean is sharing his strength with him, even if he’s tired and desperate and needs all his energy to get them as far as possible.

That’s just how they always did. Caring about each other, even in the worst moments.

Castiel sighs and turns on the radio, before he melts on the seat. The music floods the small space around them, soothing. Dean starts humming and Cas falls into a comfortable haze, his hand still around Dean’s arm, and Dean’s black soul still wrapped around his head. The car seems to take a deep breath, some storm growing in its belly, before it’s projected faster into space, only leaving bright sparks behind.

 

Miles away, police cars stop. Men in uniforms get out of the vehicles, breathless. One second the black Chevrolet was so close they could have grasped it in their palms, and the one after it was just gone. Vanished in thin air. Their hearts pound in their chests as they look around, narrowing their eyes at the fields around, searching for headlights, engine’ growl, anything.

But there’s nothing at all. Only the heavy summer air, drenched in moonlight and magic.

 

X

 

Dean lies him down on the bed, before he opens his shirt to reveal the wound on his side. Said wound is definitely not good looking, a sharply defined hole with ripped flesh and blood spurting in a steady flow, thick and black in the dim neon lights outside the room.

They had finally stopped at an old motel after what seemed to be an eternity. They had stood a moment in the blazing heat of the night, listening carefully at every whisper, every thread moving around them, waiting for police sirens or shouts to echo somewhere near them. But the darkness had kept its mouth shut.

Cas had waited Dean outside when he entered to book a room, not wanting to scare the owner with the sight of blood dripping, at least for now. Now he was lying on the thin mattress, sweat beading on his forehead, a sick glow to his skin.

“Just get it out” he whispers in a heavy breath.

Dean rummages through his bag and before Castiel can even realize, he’s pouring whiskey right onto the bullet hole, ripping a scream of agony from him. “Sorry” Dean says with a shiver when Cas’ blazing eyes narrow at him. “Now lie still, I’m gonna get that thing out, OK?”

Castiel nods and clenches his fists to hold back the pain, but at the second Dean’s fingers dive into the wound it blooms bright inside him and all his limbs shake. “Send me Elsewhere” he says behind his teeth, shutting his eyes tight.

Dean gives him a worried look, his fingertips bloody. “I can’t. That would be too dangerous.” Seeing Cas’ eyes opening again, insisting, he shakes his head. “I’ll be too drained to pull you out and if you’re too weak, you wouldn’t be able to get out of it” he says, anguish rising in him. “I can’t lose you now.”

Castiel reaches to grab Dean’s t-shirt, his fingers curling like claws around the fabric. “But if you don’t get that bullet out, I’ll die either way.” His features then seem to soften a little and he gives him a poor, tired smile. “We have to try.”

Dean stares at him, full of doubt. He knows the cops will find them soon, and he will not be able to leave if Cas is too hurt. Just as he’ll not be able to leave if Cas is gone.

He sighs. “Alright” he mutters, and Castiel melts into the bed with a sigh of relief. “I’m gonna try to stay with you all the way, but you’re gonna have to leave on your own, alright?”

Castiel nods. “I trust you” he says, his eyes diving into Dean’s.

 

Dean takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. And then it’s like all the air in the room is sucked out. Silence falls, and it’s not just the quiet humming of white noise, but pure nothingness that hurts your ears and make them bleed, make your body shake, uneasy.

He gathers his strength and pushes all his black power to Cas. This one has a small sound of surprise before he falls on the mattress like a dead weight. Dean doesn’t think twice and dives his fingers back in the wound. The bullet is not that deep in his flesh, and he can feel it, cold against his nails, just far enough to make him wince of frustration.

While he tries to catch the damn thing, he watches over Cas, who’s asleep in this layer of reality, but wide awake in another. _Elsewhere_.

On one side his fingers are bloodied by deep, black blood and on the other he’s standing in a wide plain with tall, dark grass and a pale sun. Everything is gray in Elsewhere. Not because it’s dull or dead, but because it’s soothing in its own way. In darkness.

Cas is standing by his side, breathing slowly in the breeze, enjoying the cool caress of it when the summer is so torturous in the real world. His features look peaceful, relaxed. There’s no blood, no dirt and scratches, just a dim halo floating around his head.

“You know, sometimes I think we should just fly somewhere else” he says, staring pensively at the horizon, the fields moving under the wind. “Leave all this behind, have a normal life.”

“But?” Dean asks, hearing how Cas’ last words stretch. His fingers find the bullet and he grips it. Now he just have to take it out and patch it up as fast as he can.

Castiel turns to look at him, an amused, malicious smile on his lip. “Then I think I’d be bored.”

Dean breaks into laughter. “You are an idiot sometimes, you know that?” he says, the crinkles at the corner of his eyes and the light in his smile telling otherwise. “A reckless idiot who has a shitty taste in cars.”

Castiel nudges at his shoulder, falsely offended. “I’m the one bleeding to death because of your precious car. I think I’m allowed to say whatever I want.”

“You’re a child” Dean answers, but his grin is sweet as honey. He focuses on the bullet and gathers all his strength. “Alright, I’m gonna take it out now. You’re gonna be ready to wake up, OK?”

Cas has a short sigh before he nods. “I’m ready” he says even though his body is heavy like a rock, or like solid gold.

 

Dean takes a deep breath and suddenly he pulls the bullet out. The blood spurts even faster, staining his clothes and hands. Swiftly, he grabs a compress on the wound and makes a quick bandage, using the last bit of his power to help the gap healing.

He then moves his attention to Cas, but this one lies still, not even batting an eyelash. Worry grows in Dean’s belly. “Cas?” he asks. No reaction. “Cas?” he asks, this time grabbing his shoulders and shaking him up. “CAS?” he shouts, and his stomach is just a tight knot.

He’s about to scream Cas’ name once again, when this one’s lips break into a smile and blue seeps through his eyelids, mischievous. “You’d make a terrible nurse, Dean” he says, feeling each of Dean’s fingertips dive in his flesh.

Dean moves back, before he passes a hand in his hair, relieved. “God, I hate you” he says before he leans to Cas again when this one sits up. He passes his arms around his shoulders and pulls him close to his chest, his fingers gripping the soft hair on the back of Cas’ head. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry” Cas murmurs in return, wrapping his own arms around Dean’s waist, burying his nose in his neck, breathing the blood and rust and gunpowder on his clothes.

Dean moves back and puts a kiss on his forehead, before he gets up, stretching his tense muscles. “Alright, I’m gonna head to the shower. You, you just stay there and try to heal, OK?” he says.

“I promise” Castiel answers, with another of his amused but sweet smile. “Thanks” he adds after a moment, his expression growing serious.

“Don’t thank me for that” Dean says, rolling his eyes, before he smiles back at him, his power finding Cas’ blue one in the dim light. “It’s not like I could live without you.”

 

**X**

 

While Dean is in the shower, Cas watches TV. Or rather, he stares blankly at the small, dusty screen, his eyes cloudy, his hand pensively rubbing his wound. He perceives the colors and sounds, but they don’t reach him. They feel so off, so alien to the kind of life he’s living now.

He’s switching from channel to channel, his finger numb on the remote, when one headline catches his attention and he sits right on the bed, his eyes narrowing at the raw colors and the journalists’ faces.

He may be in some kind of heavy haze after the blood loss, but he immediately recognizes Dean’s face, as well as his own, on the pencil sketches displayed on the screen. Not that it surprises him much: they don’t hide and their faces are the kind you can’t forget, especially when they’re speckled with blood and distorted by evil smiles.

“Murderous couple still spreading chaos in the country” it says underneath.

 

His lips are pulled into a smile. At least they got it right, for once.

 

As their dreadful actions started to regularly appear in the news, they were called partners, friends, and even brothers once. People were people, and sometimes they refused to see the truth to the point it became ridiculous, Castiel supposes.

Fortunately, some understood there was something much deeper to their relationship, their bond created in fire and screams and madness. Castiel wonders if there are couples curled together on their couches, watching the news with a shiver, thinking, dreading, that they could become like this.

 

No one knew the real story, but it all begun – and felt – like a regular love, a _human_ one.

 

Dean had been waiting in line in a coffee shop. His fingers had kept twitching, his thoughts racing. There had been too much people around, too much noise, too much energy. He had felt his own whispering in his skull, murmuring awful things, talking about death and massacres.

And then when he had felt like he was about to burst, Castiel had entered the place, and it was like all the air had been sucked from the room. Their eyes had met, and suddenly they knew.

Cas saw the deep, black eyes and ruby red heart through Dean’s mask, just like Dean saw the bleeding halo and agitated wings through his.

It just was meant to be. One day they were crumbling under the weight of loneliness, the other they were bound by a thread older than time.

And it was not just attraction. It was wholeness, _symbiosis_. The first time their mouths had brushed against each other, they both felt the black electricity running in their veins.

Not really a surprise for Cas. Dean was a demon, and demons were full of darkness, they were fueled by it.

But angels weren’t supposed to be. They were creatures of light and wind and raindrops. Yet when Dean dove his eyes into Cas’, he saw the ball of night snapping back in forth in the depths of him. And then Cas had told him he was one of the black angels, messengers of death on the battlefields and on earth, closer to evil than righteous, not belonging to either Heaven or Hell.

 

Just like that, their souls had aligned. Because both of them were tormented by a mystical, powerful pull telling them to kill, to shed blood, if they wanted to feel alright. It was a numb pain in the pit of their bones, an itch in their veins, a voice whispering in the back of their skulls, every day and every night.

But, suddenly they had been free. Something had broke in them, and they had hit the road in Dean’s old, sleek black Chevrolet. They were stopping in crappy motels, scaring one client or two, before every bit of humanity in them had vanished and the killing had begun.

A bank, a liquor store, a house in a rich neighborhood? That was nothing when you had black magic and two hearts beating as one. It felt good, and it felt _right_. There was no more suffering, just as long as the blood was shed, was kept flowing on the white tiles of a 24/7 gas station or the smooth wooden floor of a secluded holiday cabin.

And sometimes people thought they were only together because they were both insane, and no one else would want them. But truth is, they were deeply, unconditionally in love. Just like two _normal_ persons could be, sharing joys and fears, laughing and kissing and just feeling their hearts melt at the sight of the other entering the room.

 

Cas’ thoughts are cut when Dean gets out the bathroom, wearing a simple t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair still damp of hot water.

He walks around the bed and comes to lie next to Cas, before he looks at the screen. He has a small laugh. “Always wanted to be a celebrity” he says, before turning to Castiel, a small hint of worry piercing in his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

As an answer, Castiel rolls on his side and puts a hard kiss on his mouth, lying on top of him. “I’m fine” he says, an honest smile on his lips when he moves back. His halo does shine a little sickly green, but it’s true he looks alright.

“OK” Dean answers, before his breath is caught as Cas steals another feverish kiss from him, his palms sliding under his shirt, cool on his still shower-warm skin. “Whoa, are you sure you’re healed enough?” he asks, considering Cas with a truly worried look, his eyes traveling quickly on his features.

“It’s not a bullet that’s going to stop me” he answers, leaning again to Dean, letting him roll over him so his back is now laying flat on the mattress, Dean’s arms around him. He is about to give another smile when Dean’s hand brushes against his side, and the pain blows like a firework behind his ribs. He freezes, barely holding back a cry of pain.

Not needing any word, Dean moves back. “I like to be right” he says with a hint of mockery in his voice. Castiel glowers at him, his hand making circles on his sore flesh, rushing the grace to fill the tiny gap in his belly. Dean then has a soft sigh and spreads an arm on Cas’ side, inviting him closer. “C’mere.”

Cas keeps staring at him, sullen, before he loses himself in Dean’s eyes, closer to the gold than the green in this moment, and he sighs too. He slowly shifts his position to come lie against Dean’s chest, while trying to not trigger the growling pain in his body.

Dean’s fingers play with the hair on the back of his head as he says, “What should we do when the cops get there?”

Castiel thinks for a second. “I don’t know.” He turns to Dean, as his body starts to feel comfortably numb and warm. “What do you want to do?”

Dean lets out a sigh. “Maybe you were right. Maybe we should move to Fiji, or somewhere and leave all of this behind for a while.” He smiles softly at Cas. “I mean, unlimited food and cocktails and white beaches doesn’t sound that bad.”

“No it doesn’t” Cas agrees, burying his face against the rough fabric of Dean’s clothes. “But what will we do after that? I’m sure we’ll get bored” he says, wrinkling his nose.

“Yeah, you’re probably right” Dean answers, leaning his head against Cas’ hair. “Maybe we should just scare the hell out of them so they’ll let us breathe for a while?”

“Or we could just make sure they won’t be able to follow us” Castiel answers, raising his eyes to Dean. They’re rough and bright and full of cold hunger, like an animal’s. “At all.”

Dean raises an eyebrow before his lips break into a smile. “Sounds like a plan” he says, before settling back against Cas, their bodies close and warm together. “But only if we’re ready to face them. Meaning sleep, Cas.”

“Hm” Castiel mutters, barely holding the excited curve of his lip. He hides his face in Dean’s neck, shivering of ease as he falls into deep, soft slumber.

Their bodies fall asleep but Elsewhere, their souls are already igniting, thrilled about the days to come, the blood to shed on the wide, black road.

 

**X**

 

When Dean’s eyelids flutter open, the first thing he notices is that it’s still dark outside. He frowns slightly, for he definitely feels like he slept for a long time.

He turns to the TV they forgot to turn off the night before, and then his eyes catch the date at the bottom of the screen and he understands that they actually slept through an entire day.

 

A wind of panic sweeps through him. It’s what happens when he uses his energy for too long. Powering the car already drained him but using it on Cas afterward left him empty. Except now the cops are after them and being both deeply asleep isn’t safe.

He groans and making sure Cas doesn’t wake, he slips off the bed and comes to look by the window, carefully pulling the curtain aside. But there are no blaring sirens, no red and blue lights, only the night. A thin rain is actually falling, finally breaking the suffocating heat of the days before. Far away, thunder growls, lightning ripping through the sky.

He has a sigh of relief and passes a hand in his hair, before Cas’ voice echoes behind him, still heavy of sleep. “Dean, what’s going on?” he says, and when he turns he sees the angel’s features are tense of worry.

“Nothing” Dean answers, coming to sit beside him. He puts a kiss on his hair. “How you feeling?”

Castiel smiles at him, before he lifts his t-shirt up, revealing his bandage. He rips it off despite Dean’s protestations, but as he expected, there’s nothing left of the wound. “I think I’m OK” Cas answers, kissing him in return before he gets out of bed, stretching his sore muscles. He turns to Dean. “But I’m starving, actually.”

Dean grins. “Alright, just get dressed. I saw there was a convenience store next to the motel.”

A minute after, they’re outside, walking under the cover of the motel’s roof, features bathed in the flickering neon lights. Castiel crosses his arms on his chest, tightening his black leather jacket around him as a little shiver runs down his spine. He’s feeling a little cold for sure, but it doesn’t bother him.

Heat has something sick, something that makes the body rot and the blood bead on the concrete, whereas cold has something pure, something that preserves their cruel art, the rain swirling pale red on the ground.

 

When they enter the small store, the brutal air conditioning hits Cas’ face, making him glare at it, the thin, glacial air seeping under his thin t-shirt. Dean grabs some useful things like matches and toothbrushes, as they had to left one of their bags behind, unable to pick it up from their past motel when the cops went chasing after them.

Cas finds himself wandering aimlessly in the aisles, picking candy bars and cans of overly sweet sodas, holding them tight against his chest. He may be healed, but he’s tired and hungry and hollow. The sugar will help a little, but he knows he won’t be completely fine until deep, red blood is shed.

He joins Dean at the checkout and puts it all down on the counter, as Dean adds a bottle of whiskey to their purchase. The cashier, a young woman with soft eyes, blinks several times at Dean, color rising to her cheeks, before she lowers her head and begins scanning their articles. Next to her, a numb-eyed man is watching the weather forecast on a small TV fixed to the wall.

And then the screen’ colors change, and suddenly Cas sees he and Dean’s faces appear, like it did before. He clenches his jaw, and the energy inside him as a violent blow, reminder of the hunger pulling at his guts.

“There,” the cashier says, giving Dean a honey-sweet smile and a look full of awe, “It’ll be 20$” she adds, leaning her chin on her palm as she waits for him to pay.

The man stirs next to her. “Ah, these sick freaks again” he says, narrowing his eyes at the TV. A smirk appears on Cas’ mouth as he stares at the man, a shiver running down his veins. “What are the cops doing? I mean, these dicks don’t look that clever, shouldn’t be that hard to catch them” he says with a mocking laugh.

“Yeah, well, but you know how cops are” Dean says, slowly putting one coin after the other, a smile spreading on his lips. Cas feels the fire starting to spread between them, the hunger tying them together, calling them again for their unholy mission. “Probably are on their coffee break right now.” 

The man scoffs. “Yeah, they’d probably be dumb enough to miss those nutjobs if they were right in front of them” he says, before he turns to Dean. “Am I right?” he asks, his black, shallow eyes shining with mockery. 

“Maybe you should take their job, buddy” Dean says, and then he raises his head from the counter and finally crosses the man’s eyes.

 

There’s a little beat of silence where they can only hear the coins falling in the cash register as the woman, oblivious, keeps on doing her job. The man keeps staring at Dean, and slowly, but surely, his smile fades and something takes its place in his stare. He starts frowning and Cas sees him swallowing hardly, something finally clicking into place.

 

The man’s whole body freezes, and slowly, he turns to the TV, looks at the sketches, turns to look at them, turns again to look at the TV before settling down again on them, and he loses his breath.

“Ann” he whispers, taking the woman’s sleeve, shaking it in slack fingers. “It’s them” he says in a murmur, and Cas can hear his heart pounding hard in his wrists.

The woman turns, ready to complain at her co-worker when Dean pulls a gun out of his belt and suddenly it’s pointed at the man’s forehead like a deadly finger. “I wouldn’t do anything if I were you” Dean says, his voice low and black.

 

And then the woman screams, a high-pitched wail of terror, drawing the two bikers that entered the store after them. They rapidly consider the gun pointed at the man who is shaking like a leaf, and then Dean’s calm face, and the drawings on the bright screen.

“Drop that!” one shouts, pointing his own gun at Dean, his fingers white on the trigger. A couple emerges from behind an aisle and they freeze at the sight of the weapon, before they look at Dean, and their hearts stop of dread.

Dean briefly glances at the biker, looking bored. The scene reminds him of the bad movies in the late hours of the night, when he can’t sleep in the overheat rooms of shabby motels. The two men are bigger and stronger than him, and mostly armed, but he couldn’t care less.

“You should go” Dean answers, his eyes darkening, “Now” he adds, and his voice is like a thousand, whispering, crackling like black electricity.

“I said, drop that you bast-” the biker shouts before there’s a neat, wet sound like slicing meat and suddenly blood pours out of his neck in a red curtain, and he suffocates, raising his hands to the wound, his eyes widening of fear and agony.

 

And then he falls on the floor like a dead weight, choking in a pool of his own blood. The other man’s hands start to shake and he lets his gun fall, too stunned to utter a word.

 

Behind him, Cas watches the dying man agonizing, his blade dripping red in his hand, and at first sight it may look like he feels nothing at all. But with a little focus, you can see the way his muscles are tense, shaking of excitement, the thrill of the kill running in all his limbs, the fever spreading like a disease in his body.

When he raises his head to look at Dean, his eyes are filled by a glow so cold everyone in the room holds their breath. It’s thin rings of white-blue light in his irises, pulsing, moving, sending lightning around. Believer or not, you understand he’s not from this world.

Dean sighs. “You could have waited for me, at least” he says, exasperated, but a smile breaks on his mouth when it does on Cas’.

“Sorry, this one was bothering me” the angel answers with a vague gesture to the dying man on the floor, and Dean feels a wave of icy power flooding over him, filling him with a new, electrifying sensation. “Your turn, now” he says, his holy eyes blazing, so cold they burn.

“Thank you” Dean says, bowing ironically at Cas. And then he turns into a swift move and pulls the trigger. The man behind the counter stares at him, wide eyed, still frozen of shock, but now with a bleeding bullet hole between his brows.

 

The woman has another scream as his body slumps onto the ground and suddenly chaos fills the room. The couple tries to escape, their hands clasped as they run to the door, but Dean is faster. Two cold, precise shots and they fall down, their knuckles still white, gripping each other even when their skulls let their content flow on the smooth tiles.

The other biker shakes from his haze and lunges to grab Dean, but Cas clenches his fists and suddenly a shock wave moves all the store. Bottles comes to crash on the floor, breaking in loud noises, light bulbs burst, hot sparks flying around, the room growing colder like a blue inferno.

The man turns around, startled, giving Cas the perfect angle to slice him from throat to belly, his knife diving deep under the thick flesh, letting all the blood gushing onto him, speckling his face, staining his clothes, burning his hands. Guts spill and the man’s eyes open wide in a last glimpse of life, before he falls onto the floor, head first like his friend before.

Another man runs from the backroom and kicks Dean in the ribs with his elbow. When Dean turns back, his clenched fist breaks against his cheekbone, leaving a wide, hot pain in Dean’s bones. He stares at the man, teeth revealed like an animal. The blow was strong, the stranger is fearless. Maybe an ex-solider, or maybe just a fool. Dean doesn’t care.

His irises snap entirely to black and the air shakes around him, hot, blazing, unveiling hell bubbling around him. The man’s eyes open wide of surprise and his hand freezes in the air, as if he had forgotten what he was about to do, lost into these wells overflowing with deep, somber ink.

Dean doesn’t think twice. With a wide grin, he pulls a knife out of his jacket and dives it into the man’s heart. The stranger gasps, the suffering suddenly scorching and malevolent in his chest. He lowers his eyes to the weapon stuck in his ribs before he looks back at Dean, stunned.

Dean pushes all his weight on the knife, twisting it mercilessly in the man’s heart, causing another choked sound of pure agony. “You really shouldn’t have done that” he whispers to him, his breathing short as he feels the black energy thriving in him. His hands don’t shake when he pulls the knife down, opening the man’s chest, leaving a fresh, gaping wound like a breach to his soul. They don’t shake when all the blood comes rushing onto him and he’s drenched entirely, the rusty smell of it like a drug in each of his cells.

 

“Where’s the girl?” he hears Castiel shouts beside him.

He turns around, pulling his knife out of the man’s chest, leaving his lifeless body tumble down. “What girl?” he asks, all his limbs shivering violently as he barely holds all that black sea inside him.

Answering his question, a noise echoes in the back shop and they both run towards it. There, the girl who was at the checkout is pointing a gun at them, her hands shaking so bad Dean doubts the bullets could even brush against them. It’s when he notices the phone that fell at her feet.

His eyes darken. “Did you call the cops?” he asks, his voice threatening and black and heavy.

She nods, raising her head like she wasn’t afraid at all. “They’ll come to get you and the world will be done with you!” she spits, hatred swirling in her eyes that were so soft not so long ago.

“You made a mistake” Cas says, and there’s a wide rustling sound and suddenly he’s standing behind her. He grips her arms to hold her still and a second later, Dean dives his knife in her chest, deep enough to kill her immediately. She already bothered him for long enough.

 

Cas pushes her aside and walks to Dean, his eyes sounding his, his hands framing his face, worry spreading on his features. “Are you OK?” he asks, the blood on his hands staining Dean’s already dirty skin.

“Yeah” he says, “But the cops are coming. What should we do?” he asks, a tiny sting of fear in his heart.

Cas sighs, tired. “This has to end. Now” he says, looking around, lifeless bodies bleeding all over the white, shiny floor.

Dean gives him a frowning look of his still entirely black eyes. “What do you mean?” he asks, his lungs tightening a little.

“I mean that we can’t continue like this” he says, “We can’t be together anymore.” The blue energy floods once again through Dean, and Cas smiles.

Dean’s black energy bursts in a storm in his chest. He smiles too.

 

**X**

 

When the police cars arrive to the motel, Cas is behind Dean, holding a gun to his head, the barrel cold against the demon’s temple.

Castiel’s eyes are pale and liquid like melted glaciers, and there’s not a single emotion across his features when the men get out of their vehicles.

 

The cops’ eyes fall on them, before they blink, startled. They only raise their weapons to them when one moves towards Dean and Cas and shouts, “Drop the gun, now!”

Castiel considers them with an unblinking eye. “No” he says, his voice rough and echoing like a hundred. “But you can listen to what I have to say.”

The cop who spoke first frowns, his attention stung by Cas’ words. “Why should we do that?” he asks.

Cas’ eyes dive into his. “Because I have a deal” he says, before glancing at Dean, his face an impassible mask. He then looks back at the policemen, standing strong and proud in front of twenty guns aimed at him. “I give him to you, and you let me go.”

The cops scoffs, followed by several others. “Are you kidding me right now?” he asks, staring at Cas’ face to see a crack, a clue that this all a big joke. “Are you really thinking we’re going to believe you?” He narrows his eyes at him. “And even if you’d let him go, you’d still be running around, killing like the freak you are.”

Cas just shrugs. “This has lasted for long enough. I have no interest in this little game” he says. “Not anymore.”

“Cas-” Dean begins, drawing the cops’ attention to him. They notice his damp eyes and shaking hands, his begging look to Cas. “Please...”

“Shut up” Castiel orders him, his eyes so dark Dean curls back on himself with a shiver.

Castiel looks back at the cops, who are watching him, speechless. Some even lower their guns. “That is the deal. I give him to you, and you let me go.” He has a smirk, cold and cruel and merciless. “Come on, be clever. You would get rid of two wanted men in one night.” He tilts his head, looking at them like curious little animals. “Don’t you want to tell that to your boss?”

Whispers rustle among the cops, and they all turn to what seems to be the leader of the operation. This one seems to consider the situation, his eyes going back and forth between Cas, with his face smooth and emotionless like a diamond, and Dean, with his eyes full of bright tears fixed on the ground, his lip trembling of grief.

 

“Alright” the cop finally says, “But if you try anything, I’ll shoot you, is that clear? I got some of the bullets your pal Crowley gave us. And even if I don’t buy your mystical bullshit, a bullet is still a bullet, right?”

A smile spreads on Cas’ mouth, victorious, devilish. “You made the right choice” he says, before glancing at the other cops behind him. “But see, I won’t come close with all these pointed at me me, you can understand that?”

The cop’s jaw tightens and he thinks for a second before he turns around. “Put your guns down” he says, and in a minute there’s not a single weapon in sight, but his and Cas’. He turns back to Castiel, “Now, your turn.”

Castiel has a little laugh. “Ah, look at you. Lawful men like you, making a deal with someone like me.” He clicks his tongue, amused. “This is not exactly righteous, officer” he says, before he makes a few steps and pushes Dean at the cops’ feet.

Dean winces when he hits the ground, but gathers himself rapidly, turning to Cas, wide-eyed. “Wait, Cas, please!” he shouts, and some cops shudder at the despair in his voice. He may be one of America’s most hated men, but no one deserves a betrayal like this. Their lungs tighten when they think of that sharp knife diving in Dean’s back, as if they were wounded themselves.

“I have no lessons to take from you” the officer tells Cas, his eyes dark. He then leans to Dean and handcuffs him. When he tries to defend himself, the cop hits his temple with the handle of his gun, leaving Dean in a shocked haze. “Now, you should go, before I change my mind” he says, glaring at Cas. “And I swear that if anyone hears about this, I’ll hunt you down.”

Cas smiles. “I’m sure you will” he says.

The officer holds back an acid insult before he forces Dean to get up. This one gives him a desperate look. “Wait” he says, burning tears still running down his face. “Do you know why you should never trust an angel?” he asks, his voice tiny and broken as he turns to look one last time at Cas.

The cop rolls his eyes. “Why?” he asks, and all he wants is to go home, to be done with all this. All he dreams of is a warm meal, a warm bed and to life to go on as it has always been.

 

Dean turns back to him, and the officer has to blink several times to chase his daydreams. And then his heart freezes because something changed in Dean’s eyes. They’re deeper, darker, _colder_.

 

“Because there’s always a devil following them” he whispers and before the officer can even utter a word, Dean’s eyes snap to black, and he breaks the handcuffs in one motion, and suddenly his hands are on each side of his face and a fire fills his skull.

The officer screams and the whole world turns black and he feels the flames licking his eye sockets, melting everything in them, and he falls on his knees, the pain unbearable. He throws up on the concrete as he feels the thick, sticky liquid in his orbits running down his face.

Dean raises his head to look at the other officers and suddenly he’s walking to them, and he’s all black eyes and blood and thorns. He turns when he feels Castiel by his side, and there’s a flash of white-blue light, and wide wings black like the night spread behind him, and his eyes are filled with the same blazing color, so cold it scorches the ground.

The men raise their guns and the bullets fly, and screams echo in the night, and they are so sure they can end these two monsters by themselves. But Dean and Cas are too fast, they’re blurry silhouettes moving as one, fighting back to back, their link bright and shiny and evil under the moonlight, whispering in their veins, controlling them like one beast.

A bullet rips through the air, a throat is slit, blood flows like a waterfall. Another trigger is pulled and it’s a belly sliced open and guts spilling on the ground, fat and watery, and it’s hearts ripped out of chests. Gunpowder falls on the ground and it’s thumbs diving into eyeballs, pressing hard until all there’s left is blood and screams. It’s bones breaking, peeking out of torn apart flesh, and it’s knives diving into stomachs, twisting sickly with wet sounds, and it’s evil laughter and feathers catching the cold wind and black energy bursting and grace like acid.

 

The last body falls on the floor, head reduced to a puddle. Dean steps back, blood dripping from his face, his hands, his blade. Behind him, there’s a faint whimpering sound and when he turns he sees the officer still on the ground, shaking in a tearless pain, his hands on his now empty orbits.

Dean walks to him, followed by Castiel. This one looks like a beautiful monster. Just like when a dream snaps into a nightmare and the angel with soft eyes and words turns into a creature with bloodied wings and killer eyes.

They both stare at the cop rolling on the ground, as the drizzle starts to fall again, but not strong enough to wash the warm blood off their faces. “Consider this a warning” Dean says, kneeling next to him.

The man curls up on himself. “Please, please, please” he repeats, his arms wrapped around him to protect himself.

Castiel rolls his eyes, before he leans to him, his expression so cold and cruel it moves in a cloud around him and the blind man shivers. “Because you’re lucky, we’ll let you live” he says, his voice low and malevolent, making Dean turn to him, staring at him in near awe. “You should tell everyone not to come after us, or I swear we will come to hunt you down” he says, and the man still whimpering of terror can only nod and curl to make his body very small.

Dean and Cas both get up and walk back to the motel, but not before a wave of black and blue energy crashes over the police cars, making them burst into flames, sirens wailing in the night.

The neon lights make the blood on their faces glow, their steps electric. A man peeks out of his room, alarmed by the noise outside at such late hour, but when both Dean and Cas turns to him, eyes deep and threatening and faces red like monsters, he immediately goes back inside, his heart thundering in his chest.

 

They pack their things, casually chatting as if nothing happened. They load the truck of the Chevrolet and once they’re inside, Dean turns to Cas and all the masterpiece that is the contrast between his blue eyes and the dry blood on his skin.

“So, what do we do now?” he asks, his soul still shivering of ease, the hunger sleeping in a little corner of him.

Cas thinks for a second, his lips pulled into a smile. “Well, Fiji doesn’t sound like a bad idea now” he says.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure?” he asks, his green eyes glimmering in the dark. “I mean, there probably are cops there too.”

Castiel smiles even wider and his eyes are light and cold and devilish. “I guess we’ll just have to teach them the same lesson.”

Dean has a little laugh before he leans and puts a kiss on Cas’ mouth, feverish and still tasting like blood and fire. “Well then, Fiji it is” he says, and Cas’ eyes melt like honey on him, his soul wrapping around him, colliding against his black energy.

 

Dean grins and this time the car doesn’t fail them. The engine roars alive and as the first beams of daylight illuminate the horizon they drive away, not looking back at the heap of bodies in pools of blackness and feathers.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my story, I hoped you liked it! Don't hesitate posting your thoughts/questions! :)
> 
> Come see me on tumblr @ atenebrae


End file.
